


the wealth gap

by deadlybride



Series: logical choices under capitalism [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Consensual Kink, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Prostitution, Slight D/s Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: Jensen didn't intend for this to be his life, but he intends to take full advantage of it while it's his.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: logical choices under capitalism [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912669
Comments: 33
Kudos: 99





	the wealth gap

**Author's Note:**

> written for the SMPC on livejournal.

Jensen didn’t start out trying to get rich. None of them did. It was—sure, a dream, a one-upsmanship. _When I’m loaded I’m getting a Ferrari. When I make it I’m getting a mansion on the beach._ Stuff from music videos. Impossible things. Beautiful girls filling a limo— _or hot dudes, huh, J-bird?_ —but it wasn’t going to happen. Everyone kind of knew, Jensen thinks. They’d do what their parents did. A house somewhere, a decent job. Health insurance. Kids. Decent life, that’s what people actually expected, in his pretty nice suburb of Dallas. Nothing to be ashamed of. Something to work for.

It happened by accident. Isn’t that how they all go? He knew someone who knew someone. Physio degree at UT because he’d been thinking, maybe physical therapy, maybe if he was good getting to work for the Mavericks or even the Cowboys—but Kayla had that photography class and asked him to model, and when he was modeling he met some of the other people in her class, and they were fun, and they introduced him to—who introduced him to—and he ended up taking a business minor because Vic and Matty said he should come to the orientation session, and Taylor (pretty eyes, prettier dick) said _dude, you’re awesome at this shit_ , and his marketing professor knew someone who was on the admissions committee in the department at UCLA and said _if you want_ —and honestly the sports therapy stuff was going to be super competitive but Los Angeles sounded fun, and then it was—the business analytics classes that weren’t that hard, honestly, and marketing was honestly fun but it was more the puzzle that got him, figuring out how to _make_ someone want what he was selling, and then it was—waking up after midterms in Carson’s bed to him saying _c’mon, come to this grad mixer, it’s going to be fuckin boring but we’ll go out after_ , and flashing the megawatt smile at the too-loud bar and shaking hands and leaning in to meet: Sung Hoo Kim, programming nerd. Nerd who had an idea.

It happened by accident but it happened fast. How it always happens. An app, an unserved niche. A website that ballooned in popularity. Userbase going up faster than they could rent the servers to keep everything afloat. Him and Sung and Carson and Ming-sen, crammed into Ming-sen’s living room, watching the numbers explode on the triple-wide monitors. Meeting with lawyers. Drawing up contracts. And, because Sung wasn’t a fuckhead, there weren’t any Saverin-Winklevoss betrayals—they were equal partners, building the business from the ground up, and one day Jensen’s financial advisor called with the good news about his stock portfolio after the IPO went live and he stood in his LA apartment with his phone in his hand and thought, his life was never going to be the same, after this. They were kings, now, and unless they were idiots no one was going to take that away from them.

Carson was an idiot. Fumbled a massive deal that could’ve made the company millions, made the stock price dip. Finance degree not serving him as well as it should’ve. Quiet departure, and Jensen still saw him, every once in a while, at parties in the city—they’d long since relocated the head office to the Valley—and once when he was drunk and sad at a speakeasy off Haight Carson leaned in and said _my fuckin wife, she found out about—how I used to—with guys, sometimes, you know? Left me, said I wasn’t—and fuck her, right, took half my shit in the divorce, but I thought—I don’t know, man. Thought it was forever. I’m a dumbass, huh? Thought it was—_

Jensen didn’t call him a dumbass, though he thought it. Poured him into a cab, to take him back to his half-empty house, and stood on the street in the cold night. Weed-smell, and piss-smell, and a guy leaning against the wall on the other side of the road smoking something and looking at Jensen like he was a prime cut, and Jensen let himself be looked at because no one knew what the hell the chief marketing officer of any company looked like, much less a tech almost-giant, but he also thought, very clearly, what a dumbass. Letting all that be on the line, when there were bigger things at play. Wanting everything all at once, like a single life could have everything all at once.

He didn’t take that guy up on the obvious offer. He called another cab and tipped absurdly to be taken all the way to home, on the other side of Marin City, and when he keyed himself in past the gate and closed the glass door behind himself he stood in the dark and closed his eyes and felt—quiet. The empty house, the calm. This life, his by accident but still his, and he didn’t see any need to lose it by fucking it up. There were meetings in the morning, to prep for, and there were hiring dossiers to look over for the new office in Manhattan, and he had a job to do. He wasn't going to try for anything more than that, yet.

*

Jensen doesn’t take many days off. He has vacations—weeks in Gstaad, in London, in Seoul—but he brings his laptop and his phone and his assistant keeps him updated, all the time, on the latest numbers and how the market’s reacting to the new 6-second spot they’ve launched on YouTube. It makes him feel more relaxed, honestly. If he ever truly, actually detached from the company, he thinks the stress of not knowing would drive him into a heart attack before he even got to enjoy the French Riviera, or wherever the hell he’d be sent.

"Relax," Jared says, mild but cajoling, and Jensen tries. He folds his arms under the pillow and tries to let his mind drift. Jared’s thighs long and warm against his hips. Long smooth strokes of those big hands, dragging down his spine. That dick, just half-plumped from what Jensen can tell, pressing soft against the swell of his ass, and it’s—comforting, kind of. Jensen’s thought about sending Jared to massage classes but his slightly inept technique still feels good, because he actually wants it to feel good. Jensen tips his head on the pillow and looks back, over his shoulder, and Jared catches him looking but only smiles, thumbs slipping slick and too soft to do anything over Jensen’s traps, his hair falling in his eyes, his whole body just—perfect, in the sun.

Summer gently dying on its way to fall, and an actual day off. Planned, for weeks, and his assistant has instructions not to call unless Sung actually murders someone, and even then only if the murder’s caught on reliable, uploadable video. Not a vacation but—a day, one single day, and he catches Jared’s hand on an upsweeping stroke and tugs, and Jared comes easy, of course, because everything about Jared is easy. Jensen gets the lazy kiss he’s been wanting, ever since Jared offered a massage and, it turns out, actually meant it.

Jared’s good in bed. Great, actually. He doesn’t hold back but he’s focused on what Jensen wants, more than just about anyone Jensen’s ever slept with, and it feels different, when it’s like that. That it's not just about getting someone who looks like Jensen does, staking a claim. He kisses Jensen soft and slow and open, propped on one hand and hovering over his shoulder, and when Jensen’s done he licks his lips and pulls back, smiling that dimply kinda goofy smile, and says, "Want me to do your front?"

"You sound like a porno," Jensen says, and Jared’s smile gets that tiny sharp edge. He’s smarter than he pretends to be, or than he wants to be, or than he—Jensen doesn’t know. Right now, doesn’t care. He shifts his weight and Jared goes up on his knees, high, so Jensen can turn around underneath him, and when he’s on his back Jared spreads his oil-slick hands flat over Jensen’s chest, spreading his fingers out and leaning his weight in, just a little, just enough that Jensen feels pinned. They’re both still in their underwear, an oversight Jensen would regret except that it looks so good, to see Jared swelling out the thin grey cotton, his balls heavy. Jensen’s sat in his lap and played with it, before, thickening him up and making him leak until the boxers were soaked almost black, and just the thought’s making his mouth water, a little, right now. Anything he wants, he can have, and it’s his day off, and he could really—

But, no. He’s got all day. He should savor it. "Come down here," Jensen says, and Jared’s eyebrows lift a fraction, those little microexpression tells that are all Jensen can get out of him, most days—but he comes down, and kisses Jensen again, sweet and full and giving, his hand curling slick against Jensen’s throat.

It’s easy, like it isn’t with most people, to give something up, with Jared. To let his brain go, for a while. To not think. He says what he wants and Jared gives it, without hesitation unless he doesn’t understand, and if he doesn’t understand then he waits without expectation until Jensen explains it, and that’s another pleasure entirely. Just to have him, without compunction. It’s a relief, after the entire life outside this house of manipulation, negotiation, deals and lies and back-and-forth. _Come here_ , Jensen says, and Jared comes. No half-measures. No debate. Jensen’s not sure Jared understands, with the deal they’ve made, that Jensen’s getting by far the better end of the bargain.

They eat together, raiding the kitchen in their underwear. Beside the neatly stacked up meals from Jensen’s chef there’s cheese, grapes, cold watermelon, the last of the summer peaches from Goldbud that are so juicy they burst, when Jared bites in, so that Jensen can pull him in and kiss the sticky trails, his lips prickling from the stubble. He wraps his arms around Jared's neck, wordlessly asking, and Jared shakes his head and says, "You're ridiculous, sir," warm and fond, or at least fond-sounding, and Jensen smiles against Jared's throat before there's a duck and shift and—god, it's _hot_ that Jared can carry him, and he closes his thighs around Jared's sides and kisses his face, upturned, and doesn't much care where they go with each slow heavy step but it turns out Jared's taking him to the living room, to the big ridiculous couch, and when Jared sits Jensen stays right where he is, in his lap with his knees spread to either side of Jared's hips, and Jared holds his ass and lets himself be kissed, his mouth still tasting like the sour sweet of the fruit.

Jensen doesn't use this room much. Decorated by the designer, for parties he hosts only when they can no longer be avoided. The couch is one of those massive statement pieces, big enough to sleep on, and he's seen Jared napping in here sometimes, in the sunlight coming in from the big windows, if he hasn't gone up to his own television room. He pushes Jared down, now, watching how his bare skin glows in the light, his hair spreading out on the lavender velvet.

Two weeks since he's had time for anything but a quick blowjob, or more than a shared shower where Jared got him off fast and gasping before he had to shove himself into a suit and fly to yet another meeting. He wants to take it slow, today, but with all this spread out in front of him he's spoiled for choice. "Hmm," he says, tracing a finger down Jared's chest. Jared tucks a hand behind his head, smiles at him. "All this and I can't decide. What should I do?"

Jared squeezes his hip and shrugs one shoulder, muscle moving everywhere. "Up to you, sir," he says. Easy, but the title—Jensen didn't ask him for it, didn't demand it when they came to this arrangement, but it gets him, anyway, and Jared knows it. Jensen shifts his hips so their dicks are pressed together, letting Jared feel how he's thickening up for it, and Jared's eyelashes dip, not quite a blink, his lips parting so-slightly. Microexpressions, or maybe just what he doesn't bother to hide. Knowing that his only job is to be pleasing, to be easy, and knowing too that Jensen, with all this to play with, is—easily pleased. Just thinking it, he slips a hand between them and grips Jared's balls, squeezing soft but intent, and watches Jared's chest rise on a breath, and how he doesn't make a move to stop Jensen from whatever he might do.

He feels drunk on this, sometimes. Not the power—power's the same as money, and he has more than enough of that for five lifetimes—but in what it means. That Jared gave himself up, just for a little safety. To be free of the grind, to be free of the fight for clout, for respect, to be so hurt by all those constant slings and arrows that going to his knees felt better, and he looked at Jensen when they barely knew each other beyond a few fucks and thought, him. He'll protect me.

Jared's lucky, that Jensen's not a worse man. He doesn't want to be a better one, though. "I'm gonna fuck you," he says, and Jared's hips lift, just a twitch, instinct. Jensen smiles at him, and clarifies. "When I'm ready. You're going to wait, okay? Don't come."

Jared's expression flickers, too fast to read. "I'll do my best," he says, voice lower, and he looks up into Jensen's face like—that. Open, cracked. Owned and knowing that he is owned. It's that which stays behind Jensen's eyes when he slides down Jared's body, peeling off the underwear, makes him spread those long lean legs and leans in between them to suck down his dick, making Jared arch, making him cry out at the first surprise.

Warm salt, and the clean slick slide down to meet his fist. He can't deepthroat Jared and doesn't try, because sore voices always cause the same nattering dumb questions from his employees— _are you sick, do you need tea, can I_ —and even if he's in charge he doesn't intend to be an asshole and say, _no, just a little raw from trying to jam my boytoy's dick down my throat_. Jared likes it, anyway. Jensen doesn't make him stay still, or anything, and he doesn't make Jared stay quiet or make him get loud—and the noises Jared lets out are quiet at first, a sigh as Jensen suckles soft at the head, a grunt when Jensen goes down as far as he can, and presses his tongue hard against the underside, enough pressure that he knows it edges almost to painful before he drags up, soothing. Jensen doesn't always make the time for this but he enjoys it when he can, because it's just the easiest thing in the world to make a man forget anything else beyond his mouth, his lips, his hands. He slurps up, tonguing gently at the soft-firm ridge of the head, and when he looks Jared's got his arm slung over his face, hiding his eyes, and his mouth's hanging open, helping him breathe deep. "Feel good?" he says, jacking up the stiff pole of it through the wet he's left behind, and Jared lets out a brief hurt sound and says, raw into the bend of his elbow, "Yes, Mr. Ackles," and as a reward Jensen swallows him right back down, sucking hard and making it good enough that Jared's thighs jump, cringing up around his shoulders, his free hand flying down to grip into Jensen's hair, his noises louder as he tries to do what he was told.

Jensen backs off, eventually. Squeezes Jared's balls again, where they're high and full and begging to let go, tight against the base of his dick where it's left wet and straining against his flat belly. Jared's heels are drawn up, his knees high, thighs flexing as he visibly tries to haul himself back. "Good?" Jensen says, letting his balls go to pet down the thick pretty stretch of his taint, to the shadow where his asshole's waiting. A little hair, there, beautifully masculine, and Jensen tugs it lightly, watching the skin pull. His lips are buzzing a little, like he's had a few too many drinks, and he licks them, looks up at Jared's still-hidden face. "Jay."

Slow, shaky breath. A muscle jumps in his thigh. "You're good at that," is what Jared says, instead of complaining, and Jensen laughs quietly, stroking down his shins, kissing the inside of his knee where there's that little scar. A bike accident when he was eleven. Jared told him, because Jensen asked.

His own dick's heavy, but not desperate. He leans in, blows a careful stream of air over the wet dark pole of Jared's cock, and watches it twitch, flexing away from his stomach for a second. Above, Jared's mouth shapes the word _fuck_ even if he won't say it out loud, and Jensen crawls up, slides his still-clothed dick over where Jared's all slick and wanting, knocks Jared's arm away from his face and kisses him, deep, feeling how close and trembly Jared is, how much he wants it. Jared's hands settle on his waist, instead, pulling him in closer, and when Jensen finally pulls back Jared's mouth looks as red and worked-over as his own feels, and even better are Jared's eyes, heavy, watching his face. Wanting but not expecting. His.

"What do you want?" Jensen says. He tucks Jared's hair behind his ear, feeling—tender, kind of. Responsible. "Tell me."

Jared looks at him, sweat at his temples and his lashes low. "I want you to fuck me," he says, after a few seconds. "However you want."

Jensen watches his face. Wonders how true it is, but knows too that it doesn't—matter, not really, not to Jared, if it's true or not. His gut throbs, his dick filling up. "That's right," he says, soft, and reaches down to hold Jared's dick, solid, filling his palm. "You're so good, sweetheart."

They have all day. Maybe he'll let Jared come fast, or not. Maybe he'll ride him, here on the couch, and get Jared to lick it out of him before he lets Jared come in his mouth. It'll be good, no matter what. Between them they've arranged it so that it's so. Warm, beautiful, easy. Jared waits for him to decide.

**Author's Note:**

> [posted here on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog](https://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/628524764851585024/the-wealth-gap)
> 
> Would appreciate any thoughts if you have them.


End file.
